Page 100 of Lawless Rivals

I press a hand to my chest and feign a gasp. “Have we reached a truce?”

As he stares at me, my pulse thrums in my neck, and my heartbeat trips for a second.

“How about we call a truce when we’re out here.”

My brows snap together. “But when we’re back with your apes, you’ll call it off and keep humiliating me?”

This time he frowns. “I’m not trying to humiliate ya.”

“You sure about that?” I unfold my arms, only to prop them on my hips. “So parading me through your yard today as your pet Harrington was just you being a decent kidnapper?”

“Don’t blame me for keeping you close so ya don’t cause trouble.”

“Of course, I’m blaming you.”

“Fine… Blame me,” he mutters. “It’s been a long day. I’m sure you’re starvin’. I’ll get the fire started.”

“Right, then I’ll head to the hotel bar and enjoy a few cocktails,” I say, offering him a saccharine-sweet smile.

“Bring a few beers outside with ya.” He nods to the counter where he’d unpacked a six-pack of cans.

I nod as he heads for the door, careful not to touch me on his way past. Cool air blows in through the opening before the door swings shut behind him.

I stay rooted to the spot for a heartbeat, my gaze lingering on the counter, on the alcohol, on the cramped interior we have to share for another night.

Glancing at the bed, I drag a hand down my face and exhale a loud, frustrated sigh. In a matter of hours, I’ll be in the same bed as him. Again.

I roll my eyes at that, pop the collar on the coat I’m wearing that belongs to him, stuff a beer can in one pocket, then the other, and head outside carrying two more.

Gravel from the manmade camping plot crunches under my boots as I wander the length of the mobile and round the rear, spotting Saint at a cleared patch of dirt just beyond the shed, the blackened stones already set where he needs them.

“You cooking out here too?” I call, stopping at the edge of the solid woodshed built with thick timber beams to weather any storm.

He doesn’t look up. “Food tastes better cooked outdoors.”

“Very self-sufficient,” I say, studying the metal grill and chunky tree trunk seats.

“Not all of us were waited on by private chefs,” he replies, striking something against the metal, the first spark catching.

“They never offered me a meal with a view this good,” I admit, forcing my gaze away from him, toward the far-off fields and sweeping hills.

Saint glances over his shoulder.

“It’s not your fault your da does everything for show.”

He crouches near the fire pit, dragging two thick logs into place before bracing one knee against the ground and striking the lighter again, working the flame into the kindling until it catches.

Smoke blows sideways with the wind, then changes direction as the flames take hold.

From inside the shed, the radio transmitter that sits on a messy tool bench crackles, and Shay’s voice comes through the airwaves.

“Saint… Are ya there? Over.”

Saint pushes to his feet and stalks past me, moving inside to grab it.

As he passes by, I hold my breath without meaning to. When I exhale, the ache inside me tightens.

“I’m here,” he says.